


The Capaldian Calendar.

by springburn



Series: Random musings from The Capaldi character file. [20]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Forty Something, Mr Wakefield's Crusade (TV), Pyscho's (tv drama), The Hour, The Musketeers (2014), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: A mix of love/romance/angst/feels and comfort, F/M, Peter Capaldi character file, Seven ficlets for seven days of the Capaldian Calender.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are seven little ficlets I wrote with accompanying gifs and posted on my tumblr blog. </p>
<p>I've posted them on here for anyone outside of tumblr who would like to read them. </p>
<p>They are each a little short story in themselves, covering seven days of the week which we call the 'Capaldian Calendar'. </p>
<p>Using seven different characters that Peter has played over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Capaldian Calendar.

**Author's Note:**

> Randall Monday, is Randall Brown from the TV drama The Hour. 2011  
> Tucker Tuesday is Malcolm Tucker from The Thick of It. 2005/12  
> Wonderful Wednesday is Mark Collins from the TV drama Pyschos from 1999.  
> Fine Thighs Thursday is Ronnie Pilfrey from the TV drama Forty Something. 2003  
> Floofy Friday is Luke Wakefield from Mr Wakefields Crusade. 1992.  
> Sexlord Saturday is The Twelfth Doctor, from Doctor Who.  
> Cardinal Sin Sunday is Cardinal Richelieu from The Three Musketeers. 2014
> 
> The seven stories with their illustrating gifs are on my tumblr blog.

RANDALL MONDAY.  
THE MEETING.

 

Voices, all chattering at once. 

The air in the meeting room was a fug of cigarette smoke, and a strong smell of malt whiskey.  
Randall's face remained impassive amid the banter, as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips, sipped, and replaced it carefully. 

Bel found herself watching him surreptitiously from under her long lashes.  
His precise movement fascinated her. Long elegant fingers swivelling the handle so that it was at exactly three o clock, ready for his right hand.  
He began drumming rhythmically on the desk top in front of him, whilst listening intently to the lively exchanges between his colleagues. 

She rose, picking up the plate of Bourbons, offering him one. 

His eyes lifted slowly and he regarded her curiously over the top of his dark rimmed spectacles. 

"No, thank you." He said, with a minute shake of the head.

"Oh go on! Live dangerously!" She thrust the biscuits closer. 

"I'm more of a Digestive man." 

His gaze fastened on her mouth for a moment, taking in the crimson painted lips, then darting upwards, their eyes meeting for the merest second, before he looked quickly away. 

A flush came to his cheeks, and he shifted awkwardly in his seat. 

"Shall we continue?" He rose, pushing back his seat and tapping his coffee cup with his spoon.

The prattle faded, gradually falling to silence.

Everyone's attention was drawn towards him. 

"So! We are going with the Gromyko story then?" The overall hubbub gathered momentum again, as opposing factions tried to state their case. 

Randall held his hands aloft, waiting patiently until the noise subsided. 

"Since you cannot agree amongst yourselves, I shall take the casting vote. We run with the Andrei Gromyko article. Hector? We push 'Ambassador turns Soviet Foreign Minister' slant and his disarmament stance; it's interesting, it's newsworthy......he's a fine negotiator, a trustworthy diplomat.  
There's sufficient material for a nice little slot, plus the Pathé film footage.  
Any questions?" 

A general hum of acceptance met his words, and with a little smile Randall Brown began to collect up his papers and files, as the meeting broke up and the others began to disperse. 

"Er, Miss Rowley?" Bel turned, almost as she reached the door, her hand poised on the handle. 

"I wonder, do you have a moment?" She retraced her steps, clutching her documents to her chest, standing before him, a little unsure.

"I wanted to ask........" He paused, then tried a different tack, "Would you think me terribly impertinent......?" 

Bel raised one eyebrow in mute question. 

"What I mean to say is.......I was hoping you would permit me to take you out for a drink?" 

If she was surprised, she hid it well. Her face coloured slightly, but she flashed him a sweet smile. 

"Why Mr Brown! Randall. That would be delightful. Thank you! Shall we say seven?" 

His hand placed gently on the small of her back as he held the door for her to pass through. 

"Seven it is!" 

 

oOo 

TUCKER TUESDAY.  
PHARAOH. 

Malcolm roared passed Sam's work station like a furious tornado. Coat flying out behind him. 

"YOU WILL SEE ME AGAIN! You will fucking see me again!" 

His office door slammed shut behind him. 

Leaving her seat, Sam crossed the corridor in time to see the smug look on Fleming's face as he disappeared into Nicholson's room, speaking to his new friend and colleague conspiratorially as he closed the door behind them. 

"Weasel!" She spat angrily under her breath. 

Entering Malcolm's office she was in time to see him fling down his mobile and sink back into the chair, his head in his hands. 

"FUCK OFF!" He cried, without looking up. 

"Malcolm, it's me." Her voice was very quiet, face still wet with the tears shed moments earlier as she'd been surrounded and harassed by Julius and his government hit squad. 

He remained slumped where he was, hands rubbing at his face. Grinding the knuckles into his eye sockets. 

"Sorry about all that shite out there." His voice was muffled by his own palms. 

Sam crossed the floor without giving herself time to consider. Taking the armrests of his seat she spun him round to face her. Resting her hands lightly on his shoulders, thinking to comfort him. 

Before she could register what was happening his arms were threaded around her waist, his cheek pressed firmly against her stomach. 

"Fuck it all Sam!" He whispered into the folds of her blouse.

She held his head, stroking his hair gently, soothingly, bending to place a kiss on the top of it. 

"It's alright Malcolm. I'm here."

"Shit! Shit! Shit! I'm finished Sam. All she fucking wrote." His voice became gruff with emotion, yet he held it in resolutely. 

"Fleming is a bastard. Everyone knows it. When it all goes tits up they'll come crawling to ask you back." 

He looked up into her face, his own a mask of pain and anger. 

"Fuck 'em. I don't care. A cab's on its way. I'm going home to the house I haven't seen for three sodding days. 

"That's good Malcolm. You need to get some rest." 

"I could really do with some fucking company......."

Sam leaned down and let her lips touch his tenderly. 

"Then I'll come with you.....if you'll have me?" 

"If I'll have you? Fuck me Sam.......you're the only fucking friend I've got!" 

They left Number Ten together, and no one noticed as he clasped her hand tightly in his own. 

 

oOo

WONDERFUL WEDNESDAY. 

METHOD IN MADNESS. (A conversation between Doctor and Patient.)

_"Come and take a seat Mr Collins."_

"Mark, I prefer Mark. May I call you Danny, or do we have to be all professional and it has to be Dr Nash?" 

_"Danny's fine."_

_"So. How have you been Mark?"_

"What is the point of this interview exactly?" 

_"It's part of your therapy Mark. It's designed to help you, and to help us understand how you are progressing, and if you have any thoughts or fears?"_

"Ah! Therapy. Of course. Let's analyse and label, and offer tablets."

_"Have you managed to get some sleep?"_

"Sleep is for wimps." 

_"You need sleep, Mark, we all do. Without it you are heading for a crash. Now, you have agreed, of your own free will, to stay here. The least you can do is let us try to help you."_

"What do you propose to achieve through this therapy Danny?" 

_"To help you to help yourself. Recognise the danger signs. Make you look at yourself and moderate or mitigate any potentially damaging behaviour, and prevent your condition worsening. You're an intelligent man, Mark. Brilliant in fact. Even you realised that your social functioning was spiralling out of control."_

"The mathematical probability of one such as me developing mental health problems is off the scale. I've been trying to calculate it, but my equations don't add up. Too many variables. I'm interested Danny, to hear your view. How do you define mental illness?" 

_"Good lord! What a question! It can be various things."_

"Yes! Just as I expected! Typical that you should try to skirt the issue! You HAVE no real definition. You hurl words at me, like Bipolar or depression. But you don't really know what's wrong with me do you?" 

_"I would say, if I had to simplify..........."_

"Oh! Don't give me the child friendly explanation, I can handle the grown up version! Trust me!" 

 

_"........I'd say that it's when a person's thoughts, emotions and behaviour are so abnormal as to cause suffering to him or herself or those around them. It's a disease of the mind. And can be treated just as we treat stomach ulcers or a broken leg. We try to fix it. Sometimes with medication, sometimes not. It depends on the severity and the patient's own insight into their own condition."_

"I'll tell you what my condition is Doctor. It is loneliness. I work all day at a job which doesn't require much interaction. Figures. Equations. Calculus. Logarithms. I go home to an empty house. I live an empty life, apart from the satisfaction I may derive from making a problem fit a theory.  
What I crave above all else, is a significant other." 

_"You and me both, my friend. You and me both."_

oOO 

FINE THIGHS THURSDAY. 

POTENT PILFREY. 

The sight of Doctor Ronald Evershaw Pilfrey dressed from head to foot in black, resplendent in a leather jacket and blue tinted shades was not what Estelle Slippery expected to see, when she arrived at the surgery to meet him in a professional capacity. 

"Come into my parlour......I mean.......consulting room." He ushered her inside happily. 

The blinds were drawn. Candles burning. An ambiance created. 

There was a scent of lavender and citrus. 

"Sit, sit, sit !" He smiled. 

"Um, Ronnie.......I don't want to disappoint you, but......." Estelle began. 

"But me no buts! I've been looking forward to this all week. Don't shoot me down in flames!" He leaned against the edge of the desk, adjacent to her. Removing the glasses and folding them carefully, looked at her expectantly. 

"Well? Aren't you going to ask me what this is all about?" He continued. 

"I thought I was coming here to discuss your potential move to the Glaxo consultancy. My clients are eager to talk to you. You are more than qualified." 

"Estelle!" He leaned forward and took her hand in his. "You are here because you are divorcing your cold and unfeeling husband and are attracted to me." 

"What? No!" She snatched away her hand in horror, jumping up. 

"Please! Estelle. It's pointless to deny the frisson between us. If you'll just give me the chance to show you the love and warmth I'm capable of." 

"God! I need a bloody drink!" She sighed, and hung her head, she felt so confused. Tears began to come unbidden. 

"Estelle. My dearest. Please, don't cry." 

Suddenly he was close to her.  
Very close.  
He smelled divine.  
Had she never noticed that before? 

"Ronnie.......I......."

"Hush! Don't speak.....let me......"

His arms were around her waist, and she found herself leaning into him in spite of herself. Hands soft against her back. Soothing. 

"Estelle. You are so beautiful. When was the last time someone told you that?" 

She looked into his face, what gorgeous eyes he had.....liquid depths of green and blue. 

"Ages." She murmured, sadly.

Their lips touched gently, and a warm glow coursed through her, from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.  
Oh God! But he was a such a good kisser. Not forceful, but insistent, heat coming from him.  
Tongue teasing, seeking entrance. Sending shock waves through to her core.  
When they eventually parted she was gasping for breath. 

"Wow! Ronnie......that was.......you're so......."

"I know!" He whispered. "I'm sexually very giving." 

"You certainly are." She cupped his face with both her hands, sinking into his body with a whimper of undisguised need.

"Kiss me again, Ronnie. For God's sake just kiss me again." 

oOo 

FLOOFY FRIDAY. 

LUKE WAKEFIELD INVESTIGATES. 

Luke sipped his champagne and peered out from behind the dividing screen. 

The art gallery seethed with people. The well heeled and the bohemian. Admiring the works. 

Chatting quietly amongst themselves. Sipping bubbly. Discussing the intricacies of perspective, of form and colour. 

In an effort to change his appearance slightly since his Crusade, he'd experimented with hair dye. Fed up with mouse brown. 

He'd gone for 'sun-kissed'.......

........he'd achieved ginger. 

Not an exercise that would be repeated. 

His quarry this time was an odd looking fellow. Long coat, waxed moustache.  
Luke had been following him for some time. 

Ever since he'd overheard the conversation he was having with the tall, slim blonde woman who stood by his side now, whispering conspiratorially. 

"The alarm systems are hackable. Only two entrances. It'll be a piece of cake." 

Following his Crusade, Luke had been on the lookout for something important. Something he knew was just around the corner.  
It had been a week since he returned from his sojourn at the clinic on the South Coast.  
Completely recovered from his latest bout of 'Connie Cramming'. 

No more phone calls. No more sleepless nights. 

He was cured. 

Taking out his little Instamatic he snapped a couple of shots, making quite sure to get the couple in the centre of them, plus the pictures they seemed so interested in. 

They were leaving. 

Hurriedly depositing his glass on the waitresses tray he followed. 

Keeping a safe distance. 

The couple took a taxi. So did he. 

"Follow that cab!" 

"Cor, blimey......I've always wanted someone to say that to me!" The cabbie smiled. 

A posh house in Belgravia. Luke waited on the corner until his quarry disappeared inside. 

Making a quick note of the address, he hurried home. Pausing only to drop his film into the one hour processors. 

Luke Wakefield was not going to make the same mistake twice. Had Richard really been a murderer, he could quite easily have ended up dead in a skip somewhere.  
He'd been lucky. 

This time he was taking no chances. Once his photos were done he went straight to the police..... 

_"The London Times."_

_"Local hero thwarts Art heist........."_

It was all terribly exciting. As was the rather nice female reporter they sent to interview him.  
He asked her out for coffee. 

She said yes.  
Things were definitely looking up for Luke Wakefield. 

oOO 

SEXLORD SATURDAY

ON THE EDGE OF MEMORY. 

Red dust swirled around him. Here, on the edge of the city, the fall out blast only enough to flap the legs of his trousers and ruffle his silver hair.

Gradually the cries of those watching on the ground died away. 

All that remained was smouldering wreckage. Twisted metal. Acrid smoke filling the air. 

Still he stood. Stock still. His eyes closed. A tear drying on his cheek. 

"Doctor?" 

His eyelids fluttered but he didn't open them.  
A small hand was placed against his cheek. Soft, and meltingly warm.  
With a sigh he leaned into the touch.  
So familiar, and yet........a distant memory stirred? 

"It's over. Doctor. You can open your eyes now. The Battle Craft has been vaporised." 

Slowly, he lifted his lids, blinking in the harsh light, half blinded by the stinging dust, which still churned and billowed in the restless breeze. 

Looking down into a lovely face. Open and intelligent.  
Dark brown expressive eyes. Her countenance impassive. Calm. Unruffled. 

"You did it. You saved them. It's finished." She said gently. 

"But at what price?" He replied sadly. 

"Doctor, you did what you could. You did your best. What more could you do?" 

The Timelord did not reply, but instead gave a hollow laugh. 

"Do I know you?" He regarded her carefully then. "You seem familiar somehow, and yet you're a stranger." 

She stepped back slightly, her head cocked on one side, her eyebrows raised quizzically, a slight smile played across her lips.

"I don't think so. I'm a traveller, like you. Maybe our paths have crossed." 

He scanned her face with his piercing gaze, as if searching for something terribly important. Then let out a puff of frustration. 

"Always so close. Just on the edge of memory, can't quite reach it.......I'm never sure......there was a woman......we travelled together........but I can't remember........I've tried........so hard." 

He frowned and ran a hand over his forehead, mussing his grey curls.

"You need to leave. There's nothing more to be done. The Judoon police this sector, you cannot be here, and nor can I." 

She backed away from him then, the smile fading and turning irrepressibly sad. 

"Goodbye then Doctor. Stay safe. Perhaps we'll meet again." 

"Wait! You didn't tell me your name......or how you came to be here........"

It was too late. She'd vanished into the crowd. 

Turning, he could see a deputation from the City making their way towards him, hands raised in salutation.

"Has Clara gone? We wished to thank her for her invaluable assistance." The leader addressed him soberly. 

"Clara? Clara who?" 

"The woman you were just talking to........Clara Oswald. She arrived here to help us." 

The Doctor's hand reached into the pocket of his velvet jacket, fingering the Raven necklace there. He carried it always. He knew it to be hers. Smiling wistfully to himself. 

"Oh, Clara, Clara, Clara!" He whispered under his breath. 

oOo 

CARDINAL SINDAY SUNDAY

CHOSEN ONE.

From the relative comfort of his coach, he watched. 

Like a bird of prey. 

His sharp eyes scanning the congregation as they entered the cathedral. Turning to his manservant he indicated his choice. 

Gabrielle. Daughter of a minor nobleman.

Young. Pious. Beautiful. 

Once returned to his own chamber he sat at table. Candles lit. Incense burning. Reading from the scriptures.... 

_1 John 4:7_  
_Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God_

 

_1 Corinthians 10: 13_  
_There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it………_

Fighting a constant war within himself. Denying himself and his own desires.  
The spirit willing but the flesh weak. 

Giving in to temptation. Then asking God for forgiveness. 

A gentle knock on the door.

"Come!" 

Gabrielle. An honour to be thus singled out.

A rosy flush to the cheek. Milky skin. The rise and fall of her breasts so mesmerising. 

"Eminence." She bowed low. 

His hands came around her slim waist. Drawing her close to him.  
She gave a little gasp, her small hands resting against the leather of his jerkin, in a demure attempt to fend him off. 

"Please. My lord!" She whispered, fearfully.

In reply his mouth closed over hers. The brush of his moustache and beard against her lips.  
His kiss was warm. Deep and insistent.  
The spark of arousal in both of them.  
His new conquest leaned into him, so that when he pulled away, she almost fell forwards in her quest to follow him. 

"Come to me later. I will send for you." He murmured, tracing the line of her jaw with one long finger. 

"Yes, Your Eminence." Her eyes cast down in humble supplication. 

"Please me and you will be rewarded. My pleasure will be your pleasure." He moved away, turning his back on her. "Go now." 

"God bless you, My Lord!" She dropped a deep curtesy and left the room quietly.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I may at some point go back to some of these little stories and use them as the start or continuation of a full length story or one shot.


End file.
